Free Republic
by LovingthesuninSA
Summary: And just like that, with those insignificant words, the walls crumbled and Oliver broke down. -AU, QCON one-shot


**I don't know why I'm doing this to myself ok**

**Why do I keep hurting Quebec hgn I love him**

**I just thought about it and yeah**

**For non French readers (ok firstly don't read QCON because there's Jean involved), in Quebec swear words are generally religious terms, ie câlisse (calice), tabernak (tabernacle) or estie (ostie) so yeah**

**This is some kind of future—ish AU I don't knowwwww **

**–- **

"JEAN! JEAN! No no no no no!"

"_Mets toi pas à pleurer, là, Olivier, franchement_."

"J-j-"

"_On's reverra quand t'auras fini ta job, ok_?"

He had insisted on it being a big funeral.

Jean had always been angry about it before, about him being alone in his stupid, stubborn fight for independence; and Oliver just wanted him to know, really know, that he was doing the right thing, being brave, so very brave, and brilliant, just brilliant. Things had changed since the North American twins fell, or even before, when the Union took over, or when the nations faded and left their provinces and states behind; and now they tried to fight, the little group of remaining provinces, but Jean had been the leader, Jean had started the rebellion, Jean had been and now was no more.

Oliver clenched his fists, turned around, looking at the masses crowding the church's benches, those who couldn't find a seat standing, and others even looking through the windows. Jean Tremblay had been a symbol of the résistance, throughout the free republic of Canada, and though few knew of his real story, many knew this part of it. Oliver turned to look sideways, where the other provinces were sitting, silent and pale. Bonnie and Joel both had offered to sit with him; having been hit much harder by the loss. The four founders were no more; Jean had gone with Matthew. Nevertheless the Ontarian had refused, preferring to sit alone.

He had to be alone; because no one else in this church, in the world, had ever, would ever, come close to him and Jean. It had always been them, them two, and Oliver had never even thought of one day sitting alone in a church in Montreal staring at a coffin. He'd insisted on the church as well; remembering Jean's struggles to keep his heritage alive and searching far and wide for remaining catholic priests and nuns to perform the ceremony. As the singing quietened, the priest began to talk-in Quebecois, of course- as the room turned silent, listening respectfully. « _Jean Tremblay était un symbole pour nous tous, un symbole de ne jamais abandonner une cause, quelle que soit le coût; de croire toujours en un avenir meilleur. Et aujourd'hui plus que tout il nous l'a montré, que même dans sa mort son message survivra dans nos cœurs_. » Oliver closed his eyes as the man spoke on, echoes of long gone days playing in his head.

He wouldn't cry. Didn't think he could. He'd been filled with a gnawing void since the bullet had shot through Jean. And so as the ceremony drew to an end, Oliver got up to say his speech, the void pulling him down even as he raised Jean up to the skies ; knowing he wouldn't cry, because Jean was everything and Jean was gone. As he paused for breath, the whispers of a mother and her little girl reached his ears : « _Maman, c'est quoi ça_ ? » « _Ce sont les objets qu'on utilise dans l'église, ma chérie. Et ceux-là sont très spéciaux parce que lui aussi était très spécial. Tu vois ? On voit une calice, un tabernacle_- »

And just like that, with those insignificant words, the walls crumbled, and he suddenly saw it, saw it so clearly, that there was a bit of Jean in every one of these people, that every one of these Québecois men and women held Jean in their hearts; that Jean was here still, for him, and he had to do it for Jean, with them all.

And just like that the walls crumbled, and he broke down, utterly and completely, falling to his knees and sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air as his lungs burned and he shook, and Bonnie was there pulling him up and he pulled her to him, and she was crying too and the church was alive with the humming of voices and it was better than any speech could've been; and Oliver pushed himself away and the room's attention was suddenly on him, with his tear-stained cheeks and unsteady legs and he just felt the words spill out; about _cette ostie de speech là que je pouvais pas dire _and_ y m'aurait tué s'il entendait ça_ and _Jean était tellement vivant, tout le temps, pis il partira pas si facilement, vu qu'y restera toujours dans nous et c'est pour ça qu'on va se battre, pour des Jeans et des Matthieus qui laissaient jamais_ tomber and

–-

"What if I die?" Oliver had asked once, long ago, when they'd learnt that if nations died their provinces could too. "_Matthieu te laissera pas mourir_." "But what if Matthew dies?" Eyes met his, determined and self- assured. "_Je te laisserai pas mourir non plus_." "You can't just say that! Idiot!" "_Je le dis pas, je le sais. Alors ferme là maintenant, Olivier, tu mourras pas un point c'est tout_." And then a reluctant: "_T'te façon le monde à encore besoin de toi_."

–-

as he stopped talking the room got up and there was so much applause the room was ringing with it and he knew then, knew that this what he was fighting for, and as he gripped Joel's fingers he met the little girl's eyes and smiled, because he wasn't about to let Jean get the last word on this either.

"JEAN! JEAN! No no no no no!"

"_Mets toi pas à pleurer, là, Olivier, franchement_."

"J-j-"

"_On's reverra quand t'auras fini ta job, ok?" _

"Ok." Oliver Stanley said softly. "_On's reverra_."

END – 

**Don't even **

**I can't **

**Why**

_translations: _

Mets toi pas(...): Don't start bawling now, Oliver, seriously.

On's reverra (...): We'll meet again when you finish your job, ok?

Jean Tremblay(...): Jean Tremblay was a symbol for us all, a symbol to never abandon a cause no matter how lost it seems, to always believe in a better future. Today more than any day he showed us that, that even in death his message lives on...

Maman(..): Mom, what are those things?

Ce sont(...): Those are objects you use in church, and these are special because he was a very special person. look, there's a calice, and a tabernacle...

_Oliver's rambling_: that stupid speech I couldn't say and he'd kill me if he heard that and he was always so alive and he won't leave so easily because he'll stay and fight with us and that's what we're fighting for, for Jeans and Matthews that never give up

_Flashback_: Matthew won't let you. I won't let you. I'm not saying it, I know it. Besides, the world needs you.


End file.
